He feels her before he's even fully awake—fingers on his chest, tracing the scars there. For a while he lays there pretending to sleep just so she won't stop. Her hands slide higher to his neck, scraping lightly against his scales, and she lays her palm on his face, the pads of her fingers feathery and insubstantial, like smoke, against his eyelids. He has no idea what she's thinking about, but he can feel her gaze as she memorizes every bump and crag and contour. She's never this gentle with him in their waking hours. Maybe she thinks he doesn't like it, being who and what he is, but when he's feeling honest he knows that these moments in the early morning when she thinks he's still asleep are becoming more and more precious to him.

"Hey," he says gruffly, then clears his throat.

"Hey." She starts to pull back, but he grabs her hand and brings it back to his jaw, where she'd been studying the lay of the land. She smiles a little, then resumes her explorations. He closes his eyes again, more relaxed than he's been in decades. "Did I wake you up?"

"No," he says, even though she did. But that's all right. Her lips are on his, soft and pliant, and even though he's not equipped to return the favor he likes it when she does that. He's turning into a terrible krogan, he thinks—or maybe she's helping him remember what his people had been before the genophage made them hard, back when their culture was about more than war and pain and blood. All that was there, too, but there was also beauty on Tuchanka, and green things, and the occasional bout of peace.

Back when his people had time to love. She doesn't know yet (at least, he thinks she doesn't—women are difficult to read, and human women even more so), but she's helping him to remember.

"Want to go get some breakfast with me?" she asks, rising up above him, her hands on either side of his head, and he opens his eyes to see her with her red hair hanging in twisted tangles all around her face. It's ridiculous, her bedhead, and it breaks his heart how beautiful she is. He reaches up to stroke her cheek with the back of his clawed finger, and her breath catches in her throat before releasing with a shudder as she turns her head into his touch.

"In a minute." He doesn't want to get out of bed yet. Something will happen if he does and it's there, pushing at the edges of his mind. He doesn't want to wake up yet.

Wake up?

Oh, of course.

"I'm so sorry, Wrex," she says, and lays down on his chest to whisper in his ear. "I know I didn't get to say it, but I want you to know that I will always—"

He snapped awake and for a moment forgot where he was. It was still dark outside, and the chill settled into his bones. The fire he'd set the previous night was nothing more than cold embers now, and his bed was a thin, dirty mat between him and the ground. The sound of deep breathing across the room and the acrid smell of dust brought back the memories of the past year all at once, and the old hardness crept back over his heart, sealing off the dreams he could only allow himself to have in the deep hours of night when there was nothing but himself and the past to keep him company.

Wrex wasn't a broken man by any stretch of the imagination, but knowing that Shepard wasn't out there anymore made the galaxy seem a little darker.

The Urdnot clan seat was his again, finally, after one hell of a knock-down-drag-out with Wreav that left the both of them in bad shape. The finishing blow had come in the form of a wild haymaker that connected in just the right spot in his brother's jaw and turned his lights out like flipping a switch. Once he was back in power, Wrex had wasted no time implementing his daring new policy of not killing each other anymore and rallying their strength for the coming Reaper war. Convincing his fellow krogan of the threat had been somewhat difficult until he'd shown them the vids of Sovereign attacking the Citadel. One thing he could say about krogan—they were dense, but they weren't as dense as the Council races tended to be. The salarians, asari, and turians were hoping to avoid a war, but the krogan were looking forward to one. A battle one would be proud to die in. Some things never changed.

Most of his days were spent on diplomacy, securing alliances, and ensuring that the clans already under his banner abided by his rules. Weapons and supplies were being stockpiled, and the Blood Pack had been employed to try and covertly build up a small fleet of ships. Since the krogan had been demilitarized, there were strict sanctions on what types of vehicles they could own, but a freighter or deep-space transport ship could be retrofitted with cannons and shielding that would give them an edge in battle. Krogan strength, however, lay in a ground assault so Wrex had set up training fields complete with maw hammers to keep the troops on their toes. Things were going well, and he felt pretty good about their chances.

He was putting together an army for his people and for Tuchanka, but at least a part of him (and he wasn't sure how large that part was) knew that he was doing this for her, because it was one of the last things they'd talked about. He replayed that conversation often when he got sick and tired of playing politics.

"I told you why I don't want to go back."

"Yeah, you said that you didn't want to watch your people tear themselves apart," she says, folding her arms in that way she has that means she means to be heard, "which they'll continue to do unless someone tells them otherwise."

"You suggesting we need to be led to be worth a damn?" He's not sure why he's so angry at her for being her unflappable self. She's making sense, as per usual, and that's needling him today for some reason. That it might be a typical dominance display, like those that happened all the time with krogan couples, has occurred to him already.

"No, I'm saying that the krogan are like any other species in that you need to have a common goal to be a cohesive unit."

"We have a common goal—curing the genophage."

"An intangible enemy that you can't shoot. You can't form an army against a virus, Wrex." She steps into his space and looks up at him with steel in her gaze. "But you can fight the Reapers. You know they're coming just as well as I do, and we're going to need the krogan."

"The Council doesn't seem to think so." Even he could hear the stubbornness in his voice and he hates it, hates that she's right again. Hates that he has to go back home. Again.

"We're taking our cues from the Council now? Really?" She puts a hand on his shoulder and makes him look at her, really look. "The Council is throwing us all to the wolves, whether they know it or not. It's up to us to prepare for this war, and that means getting everyone on board. This is going to be your people's return to glory, see if it isn't." Then she smiles, and he believes her. She has a way of doing that, of making the impossible happen.

He roused himself out of his daydream and scowled. 'So if she can do the impossible, why is she still dead?' he wondered, and took a deep breath. Today, he'd be meeting with Gatatog Uvenk to bring their clan into the fold. Gatatog Karthak was a strong battlemaster and leader of a powerful krantt, and brought with him thirteen fertile females. They'd be a valuable asset to the cause. Gearing himself up for another long day, he stepped out into the bitter yellow Tuchankan light.

The day's work assaulted him the moment he walked out of the shared barracks in which he'd been bunking. The food stores were being pillaged by pyjacks, there was a meeting with the female camps that needed to be arranged (the particulars of which gave Wrex one bitch-kitty of a headache—organizing a dozen different clans was like herding klixen), and the ambassador from clan Nakmor was being his usual high-and-mighty self and generally pissing off everyone in the vicinity.

Once he was through the gauntlet and finally seated on his ostentatious-yet-symbolically-effective throne, he called for the hearings to begin. First on the list was the disciplinary officer from clan Jurdon, who had joined the alliance in its early stages. There was some dispute over what to do with a younger krogan who had completed his Rite by shooting a member of his krantt and leaving him alive for a pack of rampaging varren to devour. On the one hand, Wrex had implemented a strict policy against killing fellow krogan except in cases of necessity, and on the other hand he had to admit that it was a sound strategy, if an exceptionally devious one. In the end, Wrex and the disciplinary officer decided to allow the youngling to complete the Rite again, this time without a krantt for backup. If he survived, he'd prove himself worthy of his species. If he didn't . . . well, then the problem will have taken care of itself.

With that taken care of, Uvenk, the emissary from clan Gatatog, mounted the dais and presented his throat grudgingly. Wrex nodded in acknowledgement and waited for him to speak.

"I have come from the lands of my clan to negotiate an alliance with clan Urdnot."

"And you'll be welcome among our ranks." All this pomp and circumstance and standing on ceremony made the flaps of skin between his eyes itch.

"However, first I need to clarify a few things so I can send word back to my clan leader, Gatatog Karthak." Uvenk began to pace back and forth and Wrex's face grew grave. This one was going to drag his heels. What fun. "We have heard that you destroyed the genophage cure that the turian Spectre, Saren, developed."

"That's true." This was familiar territory; when they'd heard the story, it had taken his people a while to absorb the particulars of the situation. "What you didn't hear was that it wasn't really a cure, but a way to breed krogan for his own personal army. I didn't want to see our people become like the geth at the beck and call of a psychotic turian, so I—that is, myself and the crew I was with—blew it up."

"The woman, Shepard, made this decision?" There was a gleam in his eye that meant someone had been telling tales out of school, and that stoked the rage that had lain in dormant embers for the past few months.

"No. I made that call. If I'd disagreed with her, I would have shot her. I assume you heard the fight almost ended in gunfire?"

"That's not the only thing I've heard," Uvenk said, hinting at his knowledge in a singularly annoying fashion.

Either his relationship with Shepard had been more transparent than he'd thought, or there was someone out there who knew too much. He'd make it his business to find out later. Time to put an end to this, now. "Be that as it may, you have your answer. Do you have any other concerns?"

"You've completely abandoned krogan traditions, deep-seated traditions that go back to the great warlords of old."

"The great warlords of old didn't have the genophage to contend with, Uvenk."

"What you say is true, but abandoning the practices that define us as a people isn't wise, Wrex." Uvenk pointed a clawed finger at him and frowned. "This alliance of yours will dilute our species, put chinks in our defenses, and leave us open to attack from the Council races."

"What if I told you that it's not the Council we have to worry about?"

"Oh, yes, the Reapers." Uvenk scoffed, and Wrex was reminded of that damnable turian, Sparatus, and his feelings on the 'Reapers'. "You bring us tales of an invincible enemy, but clan Gatatog believes it's nothing but wishful thinking."

"Wrex," said the voice of one of his perimeter guards in his comm. "Approaching ship, flying Cerberus colors. They're requesting permission to send a shuttle."

Cerberus. He remembered them, but he had to admit he was curious as to what the hell they were doing here. "They say what they want?"

"They weren't specific, but I don't like it. Their pilot was being very evasive, and a smart-ass to boot."

"Your opinion's been noted." He sighed and thought about it for a second, glancing at the impatient and aggravating Uvenk. Anything to distract him from this plate-rending boredom would be the best thing to happen to him all day. "Give them permission, but put some guns on them and send them to me."

"Understood."

As they waded through the laundry list of complaints the Gatatog clansmen had with the way Wrex ran things, he listened for the incoming shuttle to land. It took only minutes, and ran more quietly than the ones he had in his small collection. He'd have to remember to get the model number.

"You know what tradition demands," Uvenk was saying, pacing again like a damned politician making a stump speech . . . which was pretty much what he was, Wrex mused. "Clan Urdnot must respond. Your reforms will not go unopposed; you risk appearing weak at a critical time."

From the stairs, his guard said, "Halt—you must wait until the clan leader summons you. He is . . . in talks." Wrex couldn't see much beyond the towering krogan except a shock of very familiar red hair. The voice of Gatatog Uvenk turned into an unintelligible drone as the woman looked past the guard and Wrex saw her face. He was up and out of his seat before he was even aware of what he was doing. It was like a blow to the gut seeing her again, and he had to tell himself to slow down and make sure she wasn't an elaborate AI or a clone.

"Shepard?" He went to her, and she smiled at him. Her mouth was thin and drawn and there was a web of scars that glowed with the orange light of high-grade cybernetics, but it was undeniably her—he'd know that smell anywhere. There was a metallic tang to it now, but the underlying scent was all Shepard. He pushed past the guard and started to open his arms, but she glanced to the left and right at her squadmates—a salarian who was looking around distractedly, and a fidgety, fledgling krogan. Wrex gave a tiny nod and changed tack, grabbing her hand and giving it a firm squeeze. "Shepard! My friend." He could feel the reluctance in her arm when she let him go and he ached to touch her, to make sure he wasn't hallucinating.

"Hey, Wrex." The look in her eyes reminded him of storm clouds, dark and gray. She'd come back, but he sensed that a part of her had been left behind wherever she'd been for the past two years. He would arrange for them to have some time alone later and get the whole story, but for now he was so gobsmacked at seeing her again he was having trouble forming words.

"You look well for dead, Shepard. Should have known the Void couldn't hold you."

"Looks like destroying Saren and his geth has worked out for you. Glad we didn't have to kill each other back on Virmire." Here was the old Shepard, that glint of humor diminished but not gone.

"Indeed. You made the rise of clan Urdnot possible. Virmire was a turning point for the krogan, though not everyone was happy about it." He turned to Gatatog Uvenk and glared pointedly at him. "Destroying Saren's genophage cure freed us from his manipulation. I used that to spur the clans to unify under Urdnot."

Uvenk piped up, "You abandoned many traditions to get your way. Dangerous." He shook his head disapprovingly. Wrex, thoroughly fed up with his attitude, reared back and headbutted him. He saw a grin spread across Shepard's face an instant before she raised her hand and wiped it off, not without some effort. It made him feel better to see her smile again, a real one this time.

"Speak when spoken to, Uvenk. I'll drag your clan to glory whether it likes it or not." He went back to his seat and settled in it, raising a browplate at Shepard and waving a hand at the throne. So, what do you think?

She remembered what she'd said about the throne and had to admit that it suited him well. Very well. She nodded and tried to hide another smile.

"Now, Shepard, what brings you here? How's the Normandy?"

They spent the next few minutes catching up on the past two years, and through it all was an undercurrent of conversation that happened in looks and gestures, unseen by anyone else who didn't know them as well as they did. Most of that was gauging the other's reaction to this new turn of events, and once that was established, how to proceed from here. Other men might want to talk about it or agonize over the details, but Wrex seemed to just want to be with her again no matter what that meant. The details never mattered much to him-she was alive, she was still interested, so what the hell was the big deal? That kind of attitude was refreshing after the emotional drama she'd had to contend with in past relationships with humans.

Shepard could tell how surprised he was to see her and wished she could have sent word ahead, but she didn't want Cerberus to be aware of her feelings for Wrex. The Illusive Man was certainly intercepting all her communications to pull her reins a little tighter in lieu of having a control chip implanted in her head. She found herself gravitating closer to him as she spoke, almost unconsciously, and she had to remember to keep her distance. There were eyes everywhere, and the salarian, Mordin, saw entirely too much for his own good. No doubt he was picking up on their connection even now, but hopefully he just thought it was a deep camaraderie rather than what it really was.

And what was it, exactly? Shepard still wasn't sure. When she'd come back, things had seemed so gray. Life had gone on without her, and all her friends had changed. Liara was the Shadow Broker now, Garrus had turned hard and ruthless, Tali was leading her own teams, and Kaidan was . . . being Kaidan somewhere. Wrex was the only one who'd greeted her with warmth and seemed genuinely happy to see her, who wasn't asking anything of her but some conversation and her company. He didn't need her to do any favors, and he didn't mince words. If he didn't want her there he'd have said so, but as it was, she could see how much he'd missed her in the set of his jaw and the way he tracked her movements like he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. It was like she'd lost a part of herself when she'd died over Alchera, and it had been waiting for her to find it again on Tuchanka. She felt more like herself than she had since she'd woken up on a Cerberus lab table, and she kept smiling like an idiot every time she looked at Wrex up there on his throne and had to admit that he did look pretty hot up there.

Maybe it wasn't too late to get that Leia outfit after all.